


Broken Castle

by IronPanda



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe -Steampunk, BAMF Bilbo, Bilbo is retired, Gadget heavy, He likes tea guns art and silverware, M/M, Slow- ish build, Tags to be added, Who happen to be exiles, burglar Bilbo, not unexpected visitors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:37:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronPanda/pseuds/IronPanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of the prompt idea by elluvias-</p><p>Bilbo Baggins is a boring, plain, dull Lit. Professor who may or may not actually be one of the most notorious gentleman thieves to have never been caught. He’s quite respectable now, no need for adventures, no need for anything regarding the Thieves Guild to which he may or may not have been the heir of. Except an old friend of his mother’s has brought a troupe of men to his front door and has utterly upended his quiet life. Now he’s being dragged across the world Contracted as a ‘burglar’ (which he is NOT, well he is, but not anymore and WHY DOES GANDALF ALWAYS RUIN EVERYTHING?) to help this rag tag group of misfits and finds himself being taken in by the leader’s charisma.<br/>---<br/>Erebor is a mysterious city, not much is known about it, and even less is said.</p><p>Smaug may have bought out Erebor Steam Co., but before he can gain access to it, he has to find it first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Castle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elluvias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elluvias/gifts).



> My part of the fanfic trade with the lovely and awesome elluvias
> 
> She asked for: Modern Or Victorian-ish AU 
> 
> Pairing: Bagginshield
> 
>  
> 
> _Bilbo Baggins is a boring plain dull Lit. Professor who may or may not actually be one of the most notorious gentleman thieves to have never been caught. He’s quite respectable now, no need for adventures, no need for anything regarding the Thieves Guild to which he may or may not have been the heir of. Except an old friend of his mother’s has brought a troupe of men to his front door and has utterly upended his quiet life. Now he’s being dragged across the world Contracted as a ‘burglar’ (which he is NOT, well he is, but not anymore and WHY DOES GANDALF ALWAYS RUIN EVERYTHING?) to help this rag tag group of misfits and finds himself being taken in by the leader’s charisma._
> 
>  
> 
> I hope it's remotely close to what you wanted. I realize some things are a little different cause I got carried away. Umm it'll all come together.
> 
> As per usual I do not own The Hobbit the movies, nor the book. 
> 
> I also can't take credit for the prompt either.
> 
> Well I hope you enjoy 
> 
> As always mistakes are all my own cause I live in a little hole of no beta.

**Broken Castle**

It’s taken Professor Bilbo Baggins thirty six years out of his thirty eight of living to find a routine.

Read the newspaper in the dining room while eating biscuits with a cup of long steeped tea. Walk to East Farthings University, lecture to the class -plead for comments on the current readings and essays-, erase the blackboards, answer any questions, set on some good instrumental music, write on the black boards the next day’s lesson. Have tea, dinner, and an evening stroll. Clean, Simple, Executable.

 

Bilbo wipes away the chalk on the board with five quick swipes. Dust flutters to the ground, reminiscent of gun powder, he inhales, and can’t smell the kickback, instead it’s dull and itches his nose.

He looks at the hundred faces in his lecture hall.

"And don't forget to turn in your papers by Friday. I want a proper analysis this time, say what you think, not what you assume I will enjoy reading." Bilbo scolds, hands behind his back, his chin raises, until he sneezes and has to turn his face. 

His smile is weak as his students trickle themselves out of the big lecture hall.

Once the last black coat leaves he sets the needle on his brass trumpeted phonograph that sits on his desk, then pulls up the ladder for his highest blackboard and begins to write the next lesson.

"Humor and satire. How many times will you insist on _Candide_ in comparison to _Don Quixote_?" The tone of the speaker is amused, familiar and too comfortable. 

"Until they learn to write a proper assessment of _Hamlet_ and let go of silly pretentious notions of how to wax lyrical about literature." The professor continues his writings.

"You know I'm always suspicious when you show up in my room Gandalf, it's hardly news I want to hear now." Bilbo looks over his shoulder at the elderly man in the black coat. The man has grown out a bit of a white beard and his eyes are a clear blue even from this distance. The man leans on his cane, but not enough for it to be his support. Still spry as ever, Bilbo can only hope to reach however many summers his familiar has seen just as gracefully.

 

Whispers used to go around that Gandalf Grayhame will never age. He is always the portrait of wisdom, and will not look any different for years to come. Maybe his mother had seen him with less grey in his hair, but she hadn't mentioned it.

"I only bring you but the most unexpected news if anything my friend."  
Bilbo goes back to writing, stretching his arm the usual distance he is willing to go. But he is half paying attention to what is going on the board.

The professor stops at the final pressed period and then makes his way down the ladder. "You know I've retired Gandalf." He leaps before the final few steps.

"Yes and I never did find out why. "

Bilbo thinks of a cold gray plot of land, with polished stones being the only things jutting from the dirt, seeing the sun.

"It was time to pursue something practical." He concludes.

Gandalf gives him that look, the one with endless depths of superiority, and amusement.

"That remains to be seen." Bilbo readies to protest, but Gandalf continues. "Bilbo may we stop by your place for tea? I fear I am in-between locations right now, and I have always enjoyed afternoon tea at the comely Bag End."

Bilbo eyes his older friend, skeptical, but nods his permission. He turns off the Italian opera and closes the black drapes of his classroom. The space is filled with a dark shadow.

"Alright just some tea." His mother and father would have done it.

The white bearded elder tips his dark brown hat and smiles.

 

Tea is sipped in the foyer, at the round table made entirely of mahogany and accompanied with the dainty little chairs his mother was so fond of, even if they did crack the knees of anyone taller than Bilbo. He had to move some letters, a few of them mostly family, especially the one he might ignore from Lobelia, seeing that it’s the same thing every time.

Invitation for tea, at her new home, so she can snoop in on his life. While he enjoys the bantering, it’s gotten old since not a single thing changes, that is the purpose of a routine. He did acquire some of her silverware after that pleasant conversation too. It is a lovely set, brand new with little raised engravings of water lilies at the bottom of each piece. They fit the décor of his tea room in a way Belladonna would have been proud.

Bilbo considers his tea room his earthy room, it is all beige, gold, and umber, and a personally picked out collection of artwork ison the wall facing the door, centered by portraits of his late parents.

"Is this a Da Vinci sketch? And if I'm not mistaken by the style this bust could have been carved by Donatello himself. And this- " Gandalf scans the room and on occasion points with his 'walking' stick. Bilbo knows it is one of Agard’s -a Parisian inventor Bilbo met in one of his travels. It has a hollow inside that can be customized for any purpose. "Albrecht Durer. Subtle uncommon pieces, but still high price."

"Actually the Donatello might be a forgery by one of his apprentices." Bilbo comments. And goes back to sipping tea as Gandalf raises a bushy brow. "Just pieces, like my new silverware.” 

"But this is not the collection, did you get the Artemisia?"

Bilbo shrugs innocently. "I thought we were having tea, I know you’re not here to talk about my collection.”

"And I thought you’re mind would be more inquisitive, and not on spoons and knives." Gandalf sets down his empty cup of Early Grey. Bilbo frowns and angles away from him.

"What do you know about steam power innovation?" The elder's eyes are still light, and Bilbo's waiting for something to set in.

"Done already, forward thinking, and not much is exciting besides a train." Bilbo concludes with the wave of his free hand, he's heard enough talk about an innovation over half a century old.

"And what if I told you there’s something bigger and it has to deal with your last job, before you settled into retirement.” The mockery wasn’t missed.

Bilbo fights to keep emotions on his face, he taps his index finger on the grip of his teacup. The daylight was still bright in his windows. They sit in a stretching silence until it wraps around Bilbo enough to make him squirm. 

"I'd say it's best not to mention anything to do with my last job anywhere sunlight still reaches." Instinct says ‘do it’, routine says ‘don’t’ "Why don't you join me to my library?" The pleasant facade is back on.

He leads Gandalf to the back room of the first floor the books all glisten and it smells of weathered, printed pages young and old. 

The professor fishes a key from his pocket.

"You've made some new arrangements since I was last here." The elder comments.

"Yes well can't let just anyone into my cellar anymore. The wine’s too good. Would you like a cup?" He pops open a piece of the wall.

"Why yes a glass would give me a little kick." 

Latches are heard snapping and the bookcases creak separate parting to a thin short door. 

"Watch your step." Bilbo hears a little ‘Oof’, and cracks a smile. "And your head." 

He lit an oil lamp and they descend a short steep narrow staircase.

Inside the circular cellar is lined with wine bottles and there are more book cases, shelves occupied with fancy glass cup sets, a large painted fan is on the wall, a Ming Vase rests upon one of the tall shelves, closed chests of variety of colors, sizes and linings, and some paintings are hung others slotted in spaces covered with white sheets. It was a treasury with the middle tables covered in papers, recent steel pieces and tools, a hammer, and another phonograph.

"The famous Bag End Cellar. Much more than your parents wine collection now." Gandalf mused. “You still tinker.” Gandalf’s blue eyes go to the gutted pocket pistol.

“It’s all just a hobby.” Bilbo came up to his friend with a glass of crimson thick wine. "Careful with the glass, the Duke already misses that enough. Have a seat," He gestures to one of the fine flower engraved cheery wood chairs.

Bilbo Baggins is not one to miss out on gossip, he has been raised in Shire. "Tell me, what is Smaug plotting now?"

"Have you heard of Erebor Steam?"

"A lot of whispers and nay sayers in the university. I did a little digging, around- two years ago, haven't found much, except that they’re situated somewhere unknown." Bilbo seats himself legs crossed and fingers lofty in their hold of his gold lined cup.

"They are a company which has developed the technology, weapons, means of powering homes, and buildings, with steam. Some of the most brilliant engineering minds of Western Europe reside there-"

"Smaug has taken something from them hasn't he?" Bilbo prods, sloshing the wine in his glass by minute movements.

"He's taken the rights to their company.” Gandalf pushes past Bilbo’s incredulous look. “But he can’t access it.”

“How can’t he access it if he has the rights?” He furrows his brow.

“He has to find it first.” Gandalf perplexes his friend further.

"Where are they now?" Bilbo cuts to something a little less cryptic and Greyhame puzzling, Smaug doesn't do things in halves, either they are dead or long on the run. And Gandalf just meets his gaze and remains silent. The blond groans. 

"No, Gandalf you cannot bring them here. Shire is too obvious, too small! And I got out of anything to do with Smaug for a reason." He sets the glass on one of the free spaces of the table and picks up his drafting compass and points it at his friend. “No, definitely not Bag End.”

"I'm not bringing them to your home." Bilbo doesn't relent on his glare. "I just need you to hold onto something for me" Gandalf never does things in halves either. He pulls out a thin silver tube with a seal from beneath his thick coat and sets it on the table. 

 

“You couldn’t have asked anyone in the guild?” Bilbo’s eyes are on the new item, it could be paper rolled in it, maybe little bullets, a key, a map, something small, undetectable, it didn’t make a noise. It shone under the burning light.

“I trust you Bilbo Baggins, you would do the right thing with this information. The guild, no the guild has gone dark these days. Poisoned now.” Gandalf picks up one of Bilbo's draft designs, intrigue setting on his face, Bilbo resists snatching it.

The former thief huffs and rests his hand around the middle of his cup. He avoids eye contact so that he can think without being convinced.

Bilbo arched a brow. "And where will you be while I hold this?”

"Meeting with those who require my assistance, they've split up for a little while. When I finish I'll meet you back here-"

"Without them." Bilbo insists, despite the promise that lurks deep within him, that greedy little thing he thought he banished in retirement.

He gave up a lot to banish it.

Gandalf stands. "Keep it on your person, Mister Baggins, don't even leave it here when you are gone."

The younger man arcs his eyebrows. Gandalf props up his cane and readies to leave up the steep staircase. Bilbo trails behind his guest, the strange metal cool in his hand, and begging to be opened.

In the foyer Gandalf sweeps his hat back on. "I will return in a days time, try and stay out of trouble old friend, you haven't been good at it in the past."

"Gandalf the only trouble I deal with are on the mediums of student papers, and family letters, " he sloshes the cup in his hand and takes a quick finishing gulp of his aged wine. Bilbo's face slides into a simple pleasant smile.

Is it greed, pride, envy, which of the sins gives him the ability to ignore the pleasant and faux life he’s built in favor of a little excitement. Even if it’s middle man duties. Maybe because Gandalf always promises an adventure.

They separate by his front door step and he is sure if the neighbors were to notice they'd stare, for Bilbo Baggins hasn't had a visitor in over two years. 

A carriage trots by on the main road, led by two chestnut coat horses.

Gandalf's arrival pegged him with memories of a time when he traveled most when the sun was half set behind the old stone buildings.

He spent half an hour in his workshop, studying the silver cylinder, it is smooth, with one single marking of a little mountain on top, and air tight. He wants to know it's contents, curiosity forever at the forefront, but it is an interesting slice of true privacy, there's no way his tool could break in without an indent There was no perforation for him to open it by. Paranoia whispers to him there may be nothing in it at all. His clock ticks in the background each stroke of wasted effort. He finally gets up to cook.

Early dinner settles warm in his stomach at the same time it always does, and the sky has gone pink and prussian blue.

 

At six thirty he starts down the semi- busy road black coat buttoned its linings filled to the brim as subtly possible. He hums some of the Italian opera he could remember from the last he attended, and the buildings increase, shops ever growing with expansion in this city. Some point it could rival London, and if it weren't for the Baggins home being in Shire for generations, he would be in the countryside in no time.

There is a new bakery on the other end of this narrow alley, and he's been hovering over the window for days, making a decision if he needs to spend the shillings on a good slice of cake. Bilbo has always been a man for comfort in the food department.

 

He only makes it to the inner sides of a long familiar alley with the old closed shoe shop sign and leather scrap filled barrels, when his hands clenched and his nose twitches, he looks up and low clouds of white hover above him. A shaded figure bursts through.

"Look out-" A body comes falling down from the ledge of a low building, the person lands just inches too close.

Of course, trouble. Bilbo can't stop his own fall in time, his hands so occupied in his pockets, he's gotten out of practice. Pain hits his back, and the slick substance of the cobblestone adds weight to the bottom of his coat. Above him is a young man with long golden hair that has four countable braids woven in, and a very eccentric mustache that too was braided over either corner of his mouth. His brown vest is very fine but unrecognizable in style with his long sleeves. A hammer rests on one side of his hips the head made of stone, and on the other side is an odd looking large bag with the same runic stitching as his hammer. And he has goggles, thick multi layered things with strange wireframes on his head. 

"What are you-" He's yanked behind a barrel, a blur of long blond hair hits his cheek in a whiplash.

"Sorry about this-" The blue eyes do look apologetic as men come running towards them, from the back side of the alley. They wear the brown vests, not like the other man's make, but something generic, low level, and with a red emblem over the right breast pocket.

"Smaug workers." He mutters under his breath, not quiet enough. The young man with the four countable braids is jerks back.

"How-"

The first gun shot swipes pass Bilbo's side.

"Lad this is no time to ask questions you don’t need the answer to," he curses. He starts to pull out his Colt, when his companion opens that large bag and yanks out something with two barrels. It looks like a gun, but with the insides exposed, the gears twist and click and there is nowhere to put the bullets, instead there are big cylindrical cartridges, and long tubes that lead back to the satchel.

 

"Don't worry sir, I had a feeling they were following me for a day now," The man's dimples show just as a bullet nicks one of his small braids shearing it. "I can handle this." That makes Bilbo worry even more.

Two more bullets come by, Bilbo figures the men must run out of ammo soon enough, their guns were standard pistols, two shots at most.

The lad pulls the trigger and a loud bang rattles Bilbo's teeth, and has him covering his ears, and the smell of old sopping leather and wood is replaced with something reminiscent of boiling water.

 

  
Heavy hot white clouds linger in the air, dissipating and the temperature of the alley has risen considerably. Two of the men writhe on the floor in obvious pain. Bilbo looks back and sees that weird barrel still emitting smoke. The young blond swears. "Out of charge." 

"What was that? You know what, I don't want to know. Sit back lad, keep your little thing to yourself." Bilbo loads the pistol. Clean, he starts in his mind and peeks around the corner. He takes aim at the nearest to the right, the one with his arm raising, Simple.

And shoots him square in the chest, red blossoms from the puncture. Executable.

"Two more, should be easy." He looks up at the heavy sign above, just teetering and threatening on the last limbs of its life. He breaths in, aims as a bullet cracks and hits behind him, and shoots it down.

It lands on the last two pursuers and the street is finally quiet with nothing but gunpowder and heavy smoke. Bilbo inhales until the copper blends close enough to the other scents. He exhales and stands, holding out a hand to the crouching young man. The blond takes it gratefully and stands with a wince.

Around them the bodies are still, wisps of grey still seep on the men that were hit with the blast, but now they lay still, their skill melted and waxy. He finds it hard to look away.

"You're grazed." Bilbo's scans for heavy bleeding, but he can't see beneath all the layers, though the right side of the vest has a shorn tear.

"Was bound to happen. I just need, some rest," The boy's grin is wry, his face weary and aging him, he must have been running for long. Now that they're both standing full height, he doesn't come but a few centimeters taller than Bilbo. 

An elderly couple once gave Bilbo soup and bandages, no questions about the gash running down his arm, the dark rings around his eyes. They didn't ask his story, and they only wished him well when he limped out the next day.

The professor pinches his temples, exhales from his nose, and shoves his pistol back in the inner lining holster of his coat. "Lean on my shoulders. Go on, don't stare at me all day, just lean one arm, we have to make haste in case more come."

The youth does as he's told, leaning at a little slope. "No more, we split up, but I got caught." 

"Happens to all the inexperienced." Bilbo mutters as they make to the exit of the alleyway.

"I'm Fili Durinson, at your service." His younger companion says voice audible enough. It's an odd saying, as if it's customary for whatever culture he was raised in. Obviously one that involves strange weapons, and getting shot at. And he chatters quite a bit for the amount of stinging he might be dealing with.

"Professor Bilbo Baggins." Bilbo hitches his voice to a less snarky tone, and smiles. Fili blanches, and an odd sort of recognition sets in his eyes. The younger tries to cover the slip, but Bilbo's already under suspicions.

"You're a professor? But, but you're a good shot-" So the only thing unfamiliar was his title? 

Bilbo doesn’t think retirement deteriorated his instincts and intelligent mind. Not yet.

Bilbo racks his brain for the last name Durinson, it's obscure enough to be something he must have read about once or twice before hand, and certainly not attached to a Fili.

"Of literature at East Farthings University." He retorts. And he seals his lips shut as they turn around the corner, retracing steps in the dark of late evening. It was good not many were out or this would be hard to explain. Esteemed Professor Bilbo Baggins is never seen with strangers outside of the intellectual circle, much less in direct contact with them. He scrunches his nose and almost misses fill's question.

"Where are we going Professor?" 

"To my home, so you can get bandages, and be on your way." His green door comes to view, and thankfully the other keeps his lips shut, Bilbo fishes out the keys and listens to each click until his door cracks.

Silence greets him with no peace for the evening.

Yes, he's had enough excitement for one day.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone else comes in as a swarm Bilbo is not prepared for. Think of Fili as the little planted seed. Whether or not it was Gandalf's fault Bilbo still blames him.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I always enjoy feedback and respond to comments, and if you wanna drop by with pairing suggestions (cause I'm open to most) you can post here or find me on tumblr at pandamani.
> 
> Side note- Yeah I totally chickened out in setting because I've never been to London so I'd hate to butcher things even if they are suppose to be from roughly one hundred and fifty years ago, and that was the main setting I was envisioning. If I revealed the inspiration for this I think that'd give a good portion of the plot away.


End file.
